You're my Hero
by theraputicDepressant
Summary: Arthur Kirkland's life was great. However, in just one day, his whole perfect life was ruined by a single nervous knock on the door, and three little words. "I'm your son."
1. Chapter 1

**New Story! Yay! New Account too, cos I just couldn't deal with my old one's rep as a crossover author anymore OTL**

**Anyway! Let's hope this story is as good in words as it was in my head!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.**

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Arthur Kirkland's life was great.

He had a good job, a wonderful husband, a beautiful home, and everything he could ever want. He and his husband, Francis, had adopted a boy named Peter a few years previous, and their family was exactly how Arthur would want it to be.

True, he did get a little annoyed with how Francis, who was a professional chef, had banned him from the kitchen, not even allowing him to go in just to get something, but he couldn't be too mad. He had banned his husband from touching anything in his office (besides him, if you knew what he meant.)

However, in just one day, his whole perfect life was ruined by a single nervous knock on the door, and three little words.

"I'm your son."

**Chapter 1**

"So, Peter, how was school today?" Arthur asked as he and his family of three sat around the table for dinner. Francis had made chicken fricassee with tarrago(1), and it was amazing, although Arthur would never admit it.

"It was great! Me and Raivis were partners in science, he's really fun, I think we'll be best friends."

"Oh? That's nice. I'm glad you're making friends." Arthur replied, taking a sip of his tea. Francis smiled at their son, patting his head.

"You'll have to have him over some time. I can make the two of you some great snacks while you hang out." Peter smiled back, nodding rapidly.

"Alright! As long as dad doesn't make anything." Arthur scowled, crossing his arms.

"I really don't see what you two have against my cooking, it tastes just fine."

"Sure it does, mon lapin."

"Papa, don't lie to him! Dad, you really can't cook, it's like poison! Remember when Uncle Matthew tried some? He was hospitalized for almost a month!" Arthur rolled his eyes and took another bite of his dinner.

"You all just don't have the highly developed taste buds of a true Englishman."

"Anyway, Arthur. You remember my friend Antonio, oui~?"

"Yes, the Spaniard, right?"

"Yes, that's the one. Well he called me earlier and asked if we would be able to join him and Lovino for dinner next weekend."

"Next weekend? I think we should be free. If nothing comes up, I suppose we ca-" Arthur was interrupted by a knock so quiet, he almost hadn't heard it. He frowned, stand in up. "Now who on earth could that be...?" He muttered as he waked to the door. He was greeted by the sight of a boy who couldn't have been more than seventeen wearing an Avengers T-shirt, his dirty blonde hair sticking up near his forehead, a suitcase sat on the ground by his feet.

"Um...May I help you?"

"Yes. I mean no. Or...maybe." The boy shook his head. "Um...you're Arthur Kirkland, right?"

"Correct. And you are?" The boy smiled nervously, shoving his hands in he pockets of his old bomber jacket.

"Well, my name's Alfred. Alfred F. Jones. And..." He pauses taking a deep breath. "I'm your son."

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**It's short, yes. But hopefully the rest won't be. Review! Fav! Follow! All that good stuff!**

**(1) Fricassee is a classic French stew of chicken and vegetables, cooked in white wine and finished with a touch of cream. The light tarragon-infused sauce begs to be sopped up with crusty bread. (from )**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2! Enjoy!**

**Do not own.**

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Arthur's mouth opened and shut repeatedly, his mind going blank.

"E-e...Excuse me?" He managed, shocked. Alfred smiled sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck.

"I guess I should uh...explain. So um...About seventeen years ago, you and my mom er..." The boy blushed and looked away. "Screwed each other in the bathroom during your senior prom, and uh...then never saw each other again. Anyway, uh...long story short, she got sick a few years ago. Like, really sick. She was in and out of hospitals constantly. Then...five months ago I get called up to the office during school, and there's my grandmother, crying her eyes out in the secretary's arms...About a month ago, Nanna found this in mom's room." Alfred dug around in his pockets, pulling out a crumpled, folded up piece of paper. "Here. It was addressed to you. We um, read it though. That's how I was able to start looking for you." Arthur took the letter, his hand shaking the whole time. He read over it once, twice, three times, not believing a word of it.

"You're...I...No. There's no way. I-I'm gay! I've never-"

"Arthur~" Francis cooed coming up behind the Brit, wrapping his arms around his waist. "Who's at the door?"

"Hello sir. I'm guessing you're dad's husband?" Francis raised an eyebrow, before smirking at Arthur.  
"Oh? Did you have fun without moi~?"

"Shut up, Francis. Now is not the time for that. Go back in and make sure Peter eats everything." Francis smiled and kissed Arthur's cheek, nodding to Alfred before heading back to the dining room.

"Peter?" Alfred asked, his head tilting to the side a little.

"My son." Arthur replied, tilting his head back and putting a hand over his eyes. "Look. I don't know whether or not your story is true but...I'm in the middle of a _lovely _dinner with my family, and I'd really like to get back to it. So..." He sighed and took a step back. Alfred smiled and picked up his suit case, waking in.

"Daaamn. You must be loaded. It was big outside but holy shit dude." He said, taking his jacket off.

"Watch your language." Arthur snapped, heading down the hall. "Hang your coat in the closet, shoes go by the door." Alfred nodded, opening the closet door.

"So what's for dinner, dad?" Arthur froze.

"Don't...call me that." He said before continuing. Alfred frowned, dropping his coat on the floor.

"..." He sighed and followed slowly after, shoving his hands into his pants pockets.

"Francis, Peter, this is Alfred. Alfred, Francis, Peter." Arthur said quickly, taking a seat and grabbing Francis's wine glass, downing it quickly.

"Um, Arthur..."

"Shut up and get me more." Francis rolled his eyes, taking the glass into the kitchen, and filling it with grape juice he kept just for times like this. His husband was such a light weight...

"So d-...A-Arthur, Peter is your son?"

"Yes. Francis and I adopted him three years ago."

"So then he's my brother?"

"Only if your tale is true." Alfred sighed, watching his father gulp down a glass of what everyone but a certain Frenchman thought was alcohol.

"Look, if you really don't believe me we can go and get a DNA test done or something. But seriously, why would I lie about this? I live in New York. New York! I've been seventeen for two months, and I paid for the entire trip up here to Massa-effin-chssetts! I worked as a delivery boy for a Chinese food restaurant and got the shittiest pay imaginable. Why would I waste so much time and money just to make you think something that isn't true?!" Francis leaned closer to Arthur, tapping his shoulder.

"He has a point, mon amour." Arthur scowled, crossing his arms.

"Fine. Whatever. I still don't believe it. I want that testing done."

"The the of you do look rather similar." Peter sad quietly. "And you both seem to have similar tempers."

"Look, just humor me. Please. Until you get that test, just please, let me be your son. I promise that if I was wrong, I'll leave and never bother you again. Can you please just do that for me? A boy who's basically an orphan if you don't?" Alfred pleaded, using his best puppy dog eyes. Arthur sighed, eyes shutting as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Fine. You can stay here until we find out, and I'll pretend to be your dad. Now please just...ugh. I need a fag." He stood up, ignoring Francis's protests, and let the house.

"...He needs a what?" Alfred asked, confused.

"A cigarette." Francis answered. "Anyway, would you like some dinner?"

"I would love some, thanks man."

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